


A Ten-Year Journey

by snakeling



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: D/s, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-30
Updated: 2007-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron might be a little slow, but eventually, he catches on. And leaps into the fray, like the Gryffindor he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ten-Year Journey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iulia_linnea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/gifts).



If there was one thing to be said in favour of the Horcrux chase they had done for nearly three years, it was that it taught one stealth and caution.

Not that Ron had ever expected to put to use his new-found skills to follow his best friend (well, more than that, but Harry had gently but firmly dashed Ron’s hopes with a few well-placed words and a reference to Ron’s disastrous relationship with Hermione). Yet Ron had reached his limit recently and had decided to do something.

What, he didn’t know exactly, but he hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

One Disillusion spell rapped onto his head, one Muffling charm coating his shoes and one Silencing spell on himself later, and he was stalking Harry in the maze of London streets.

Ron wasn’t sure exactly what Harry was doing when he went away, except that it had to do with his feelings of inadequacy in post-war life and that it caused him to come back home reeking of things best left unanalysed. (Semen!! And why Harry was seeking sex with other men when he had one perfectly willing at home Ron couldn’t understand.)

Harry walked up to one of the gay Muggle clubs populating the area. The bouncer nodded at him, speaking a few words that set Harry laughing. He waved his fingers at the bouncer as he entered.

Ron kept to the shadows and observed his target. A couple of men entered, both showing off their bodies in tight, revealing outfits. Slowly, Ron transfigured his clothes to something he thought might pass muster with the bouncer, the trousers revealing his every asset and the mesh shirt clinging to every muscle.

He transfigured his hair brown and short, running his hand through it to dishevel it further, hopefully in an artistic way.

It met with the bouncer’s approval (as well as a wink and an invitation to meet him at the end of his shift, which Ron daren’t refuse directly) and a few seconds later, he was inside the place.

It was as he’d imagined it, and then some; throngs of scantily-clad males pressing each other and looking for a mate. The place reeked of beer and sweat, with an underlying aroma of sex.

Now, where could he find Harry? Given the dim lights, a simple visual identification wasn’t going to be enough. Ron stepped back into a shadowed corner and took out his wand.

“Point me Harry Potter.”

Um. Right in the middle of the crowd. Ron sighed, strapped the wand back to his forearm holster (under an invisibility spell, so as not to shock the natives; though they’d probably think it was some new kind of sex toy), and courageously stepped on the dance floor, sidestepping at the last moment to avoid a glass of beer that had been abandoned on the floor.

It was a pure stroke of luck that he managed to find Harry almost on the first try, though the way people had moved away both to leave him and his partner room and to watch the show had probably influenced his luck.

Harry was gyrating, his arms raised over his head, his T-shirt disappeared God knew where. His skin was glistening with sweat and there was something shiny at his nipple. (A ring. Ron was suddenly filled with the need to tug on it. With his teeth. Ngh.)

There was someone behind Harry, undulating on the same beat and no doubt grinding his cock against Harry’s arse. He was also stroking Harry’s thighs, teasing along the groin and framing Harry’s hard cock, whose tip was peeking above his waistband.

Someone tipped his head at Ron, whispering, “He’s a regular. Comes here every week for a good, hard fucking. A tighter arse around your cock you’ll never find.”

“Really?” Ron growled. He was not going to stay here and watch as Harry got fucked (literally). With grim determination, he pushed through the crowd until he was at Harry’s back. He gripped Harry’s would-be partner by the back of his trousers and jerked him away before sending him back to the onlookers with a hearty “Fuck off!”

He stepped in behind Harry, simultaneously grabbing his crotch, jerking his cock against Harry’s arse and biting down on the side of his neck. Harry moaned and bucked in his arms, his hands fluttering up in a gesture of helplessness. (Hot!)

He squeezed Harry’s cock, working the length through the denim, gathering the moisture at the tip and feeding his fingers to Harry to suck them clean, while his other hand pinched and tugged relentlessly at Harry’s beringed nipple.

The crowd was going wild, cheering up and catcalling. Ron took off his fingers from Harry’s mouth with a wet plop.

“All right, you lot! Show’s over, now go find your own toy to play with!”

He manhandled Harry towards the toilets, finding an empty cubicle and pushing him inside.

“Hands on the wall!”

His own were already going to Harry’s jeans’ buttons, tugging them open and sliding the jeans down his legs. Of course, he wasn’t wearing any underwear (not that he’d have any room for it). Ron passed a hand in the crease of Harry’s arse and probed at his hole, realising with a start that it was already greased.

“You little tart. All slicked up for the first man who grabs that arse.”

Brutally, he pushed open the globes of Harry’s arse, knowing (but not caring) that he was most likely leaving finger-shaped bruises. Unbuttoning himself hastily, he lost no time with niceties and simply pushed his cock into the inviting hole, slowly but steadily, until he was all the way in.

The man on the dance floor hadn’t lied about Harry’s tight arse. It griped at his cock when he slid out, as if not wanting to let go. Ron pushed in again with a sigh, getting a long keening wail from Harry (which went a long way towards explaining the extra-strong silencing spells Harry had always placed on his bed).

Soon he was pounding hard, spurred on by Harry’s “Fuck yeah!” and “Harder!” and “More!”

After too few moments, Harry came, completely untouched. His head fell even lower between his shoulders, his wailing abruptly shifting to strangled gurgles, his body tensing, his arse clenching rhythmically around Ron’s cock.

It was all too much for Ron, who came in long, pulsing jets, harder than he’d ever come in his life (even when he was sixteen and fucking a girl for the first time).

Of course, aftermaths were always kind of awkward, though Harry seemed to be rather practised at them. He pulled his jeans up, not caring about the come spilling out and along his thighs, staining the fabric. Once he was tucked in, he turned and looped his arms around Ron’s head. He kissed him on the corner of his lips before tiptoeing to whisper to his ear, “You were incredible! Thanks.”

Harry stepped back and looked up with half a smile, for the first time looking at Ron’s face. The smile froze on his lips, and his eyes widened. Too late, Ron remembered that he had only changed his hair colour, not his face or anything else. As steadily as he could manage, he met Harry’s eyes.

Harry let out a small noise of distress and fled, the slap of the door heralding his departure. Ron dropped down heavily on the toilet seat.

What had he done?

* * *

Harry kept to his rooms during the following days, avoiding Ron as much as possible (which, to be honest, suited Ron just fine).

It was just Ron’s luck, of course, that he happened on Harry just as he was leaving for the clubs, again. Annoyance and jealousy filled him.

“Where are you going?”

Harry looked up, visibly startled by his presence. (The war hadn’t been over so long; shouldn’t Harry be more aware of his surroundings?) He sneered.

“I daresay you’ve got a pretty good idea, don’t you?”

Ron did, unfortunately. The next words out of his mouth surprised him as much as they did Harry.

“Go to my bedroom, take off those ridiculous clothes and wait for me on my bed, on all fours. I’ll be along in a couple of minutes.”

Without staying to watch Harry’s reaction (to the scariest and most important gamble of his life), Ron went to the kitchen and put the kettle to boil.

During the time it took for the water to boil and the tea to steep, Ron had ample time to heap reproaches upon his own head. His latest stunt had probably cost him his friendship with Harry.

Nursing his cup of tea, he walked up to his room and opened it despondently. He nearly dropped the cup. Harry was waiting, indeed naked, on all fours, just as he’d ordered.

Ron took a sip to give himself a countenance, then put his mug aside. Harry was trembling, and Ron stroked a reassuring hand along his back.

“Good boy.”

Ron was amazed to see how much Harry relaxed at those simple two words.

“Come.” He tugged at Harry until Harry was sitting on his lap (fitting his arms as if he’d been born to stay there). Harry was skittish as a newborn colt, though relaxing fast in his arms. Ron applied his strategist’s brain to the matter at hand. Coming to a decision, he said, “You won’t be going to the clubs any more.”

Ron hadn’t phrased it as a question, yet he waited for Harry’s answer.

“Yes, Ron.”

“Outside of these rooms, you’ll set the pace of our relationship. Best friends or lovers, it’s entirely up to you. Here, though...” He paused. “Here, you’re mine. When I tell you to do something, you obey. If it becomes too much for you, you should let me know. Otherwise...”

Harry burrowed even deeper against Ron’s chest, nodding (and rubbing his face against a suddenly sensitive nipple). “Yes, Ron.”

So much meek acquiescence was rather unsettling, though Ron was beginning to suspect that Harry needed, in some parts of his life, someone he could rely on, someone he could turn to for instructions and release. Ron didn’t intend to let anyone else to be that someone.

Gently, he pushed Harry off his lap.

“Take my clothes off.”

Harry obeyed with alacrity, lingering to worship with his fingers and mouth the skin he had just unveiled. Already Ron was struggling to keep his wits and not abandon himself to pleasure.

“Enough!” he barked, stopping Harry as he was about to take his erection into his mouth (and wasn’t that the hardest thing he’d ever done).

He tugged Harry up the bed, rolling them both and settling carefully over the smaller man. Harry welcomed his weight with a sigh of pleasure, almost melting into the mattress. Ron kissed him leisurely, not passionately enough to send any lingering spark firing up the way it had in the club, but with the unhurried thoroughness that could keep a banked fire going on for hours.

Harry was wriggling a little, trying to entice Ron to more vigorous pursuits, but Ron was having none of it (Harry’s needs before his, even though his were getting urgent).

When he felt that Harry couldn’t bear any more teasing, Ron slid down the bed and swallowed Harry’s cock in one movement. It sent Harry over the edge, as Ron had expected. He kept licking and sucking until Harry was completely spent, his body still shaking with aftershock tremors.

Scouting back up the bed, Ron took Harry in his arms, holding him tight (and mostly ignoring his throbbing cock). Harry let himself be held for long moments, but finally pushed away a little to look at Ron.

There was uncharacteristic uncertainty on Harry’s face and he was biting his lips as if unsure of his reception. Ron’s thumb soothed the little hurt, eventually slipping into Harry’s mouth.

“You want to suck me.”

Harry released the thumb. “Yes, but not now. Please... please fuck me.”

Such a proposal couldn’t be refused (not that he’d had any intention to in the first place). Ron’s hand fluttered downward, down the crease of Harry’s arse, slipping in effortlessly. Harry shuddered, half-closing his eyes, confessing, “I always prepare before... you know. Once I got taken dry and it hurt for days afterwards.”

Ron had to push away the most inappropriate impulse to find the bastard and make him pay. He chose instead to kiss Harry possessively. However bruised his feelings had been, he shouldn’t have let Harry self-abuse for so long.

He stretched Harry as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Ron could tell that Harry’s preparation was barely this side of adequate, just enough to keep him from getting hurt. He was determined that Harry would feel no pain, just the sensation of being filled.

Slowly, he slid in, giving Harry time to relax and accommodate him, as much as he could manage. Once he was all the way in, he rested his forehead on Harry’s, trying desperately to think unsexy thoughts. (Snape. Umbridge. Together. With Firenze. Gah, still not working!)

Ron wanted to draw it out, to make it last, but he would just have to do it another time. Harry was just too hot, too tight, too fucking sexy for Ron not to come just... right... now...

A few minutes later, Ron was trying to catch his breath, his nose nestled right where Harry’s shoulder met his neck, grinning foolishly. He could already tell that sex with Harry was going to include some spectacular orgasms.

Speaking of orgasms... Harry was hard again, desperately trying to grind against Ron even though he was pinned to the bed and utterly unable to move. Ron rolled a little to the side, just enough to gain access to Harry’s cock. He pulled on it a little roughly, though Harry didn’t complain at all.

Indeed he was scrabbling on the blankets, his heels digging into the mattress, his hand gripping Ron’s arm hard enough to bruise. His moans were rising in intensity and a little too late, Ron remembered that he hadn’t put any silencing charms up. (Please let Hermione still be out!)

He kissed Harry, swallowing the sounds with his mouth, feeling with his entire body when Harry jerked besides him, warm viscous come spilling over his fingers. A whispered spell took care of the various body fluids, and Ron pulled Harry close, spooning behind him, his bigger frame fitting perfectly around Harry’s smaller one.

Harry fell asleep immediately, but Ron found it harder to rest. His fingers were carding gently through Harry’s dishevelled hair, enjoying the silky feeling as it slid between his fingers. If he remained silent enough, he could hear both their heartbeats beating in near unison.

* * *

From his secluded spot on the Ministry’s balcony, half hidden by the curtain, Ron watched the dancers on the floor, his attention focused on one particular couple. Minister Scrimgeour's daughter had chosen to attach herself to Harry’s arm. (Fake yellow hair, fake nails, fake breasts, more make-up on than Gilderoy Lockhart’s memoirs, and wasn’t that a pimple he could see peeking from under the glamour on her nose?)

Ron was itching to cross the room, knock the tart off Harry’s arm and stake his claim. His eyes followed the girl’s every movement, narrowing as she clung and pressed her breasts against Harry’s side.

“You could try being a little more discreet,” Hermione hissed, slipping on the seat to Ron’s right. On the other side, Padma Patil sat down and leant towards him.

“You should try to control your hormones, Ron. You looked as if you were going to throw her over your shoulder to drag her to your cave,” she said.

“Rather, yes.” Hermione looked completely disapproving, which annoyed Ron to no end. (Besides, the idea had merit. Applied to Harry, of course.)

“I was _not_ ogling the Minister’s daughter!”

“Please. Say it to someone who wasn’t there. You were obvious.”

Ron glared at Padma while Hermione chimed in. “She’s nice, if a little on the giggling side. Quite all right, if that’s what you like.”

Her tone implied that it was exactly what Ron liked, which was totally unfair. (As if they hadn’t dated for almost four months. Not that it had been the most successful relationship, but still.) Ron closed his eyes, repressing the urge to bash his head against a nearby wall.

“At any rate, Harry seems quite attached to her already,” Padma continued.

“What!” It came out louder than he’d intended and heads turned to see what the fuss was about. Ron flushed and whispered furiously, “What makes you say that?”

“Ha! So you do want her.”

How a girl as clever as Hermione could keep missing the obvious (or the fact that Harry had been sharing his bed for weeks now), Ron couldn’t fathom (though he did plan on teasing her over it for years to come).

“I do not want her,” Ron repeated, his patience wearing thinner by the minute.

“Want who?”

Ron looked over his shoulder. Harry was alone, Abigail Scrimgeour nowhere in sight.

“Scrimgeour’s daughter. And I don’t want her,” he added forcefully.

“God! I hope not.” Harry looked dumbfounded at the very assumption, and Ron swallowed back the no doubt goofy grin that threatened to escape.

Hermione bit her lip. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? I mean, you just met her a couple of hours ago.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Harry asked, walking around the group of chairs. “I thought you’d guessed weeks ago, and just kept quiet out of... you know, discretion. Or something.”

“Guessed what?”

Padma leant even more forward, nearly toppling from her chair when Harry simply sat down on Ron’s lap, as if it was something usual for him. (Harry could make a habit of it, Ron wouldn’t mind at all.) Ignoring the girls’ wide-eyed stares, Harry settled in comfortably against Ron’s chest, wriggling around until Ron was harder than he had any right to be in public.

Ron threw an arm around Harry’s waist, as much to keep him from moving as to make a point to Hermione and Padma.

“You? And Ron?” Padma stammered.

Harry had an extremely self-satisfied smile on his face. “Yeah.” Ron’s arm tightened, and he buried his face in Harry’s shoulder, hiding his laughter.

“Since when?” Hermione sounded just as bewildered.

“Since the first time we met, on the Hogwarts train. Though it took us some time to get to the point.”


End file.
